


if only until the sun rises.

by nuealite



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Blow Jobs, M/M, Rimming, So many space metaphors, Space Metaphors, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuealite/pseuds/nuealite
Summary: “I love you.”Taeyong doesn’t so much as blink at the sudden confession, too used to Yuta’s methods to slip out of doing the chore. “That’s great. You’re still not getting out of helping me with the laundry.”





	if only until the sun rises.

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: Ass Eating, But Make It Pretty.  
> sub heading: Can You Tell I Like Space Metaphors?
> 
> fuelled by my desire to namedrop my cousins' kittens in a fic and for yutae to fuck on a washing machine.   
> also fuelled by my hatred for doing laundry.

It’s past noon on a sunny Saturday when Yuta decides to wake up. 

When he opens his eyes, he immediately groans and shuts them again; the curtains have already been drawn halfway, golden rays bathing the bedroom in the kind of soft sultry heat that makes you want to laze about in bed all day and do absolutely nothing. 

Yuta’s sorely tempted to do so, but the other side of the mattress is cool to the touch which means Taeyong’s been up much earlier than him, probably doing something productive with his time. 

He’d like to stay in bed, really he would, but there’s no point if Taeyong’s not there for him to curl up next to. 

He ignores the instinctive little smile that curves on his lips when he thinks about Taeyong– he’s too used to the warmth that floods his chest and spreads down to his fingers when he realises how disgustingly domestic his life has become. 

He curls his toes and pauses for a moment to bask in the feeling of warmth and fondness and pure unadulterated love, before focusing on, finally, getting out of bed. 

It takes Yuta five minutes to finally kick off the covers, feeling too hot under the attentive gaze of the afternoon sun, and it takes him a further ten minutes to actually roll himself over to the edge of the bed and sit up. He groans again, hunched over and running a hand through his messed up bed hair before he manages to push himself off the mattress and stumble outside to go search for his boyfriend, kiss him and, hopefully, convince him to come back to bed with him.

He finds Taeyong in the kitchen, unpacking yesterday’s dishes from the dishwasher and putting them away. He doesn’t seem to notice Yuta’s presence behind him, slender back turned away from Yuta. 

Taeyong’s still wearing his sleep shirt; a black and orange monstrosity with a giant anime takoyaki grinning plastered on the front. It had once been Yuta’s– he’d been sitting in the departure lounge of Kansei airport, waiting for his one-way flight to Incheon to start his degree in Interpreting and Translation at Konkuk University. 

He doesn’t remember much from his time in the airport, only that he was second-guessing the decision to abandon everything he’d ever known– his family, his friends, his home– to study in a foreign country. He remembers the anxiety pooled in his belly and fear of the unknown wrapped around his bones until all he could do was stare down at his hands, white and clammy, and try to think of anything other but vomiting into them.He remembers being startled by the boarding announcement for his flight and his nerves going into overdrive. He remembers seeing the little souvenir booth a few metres away from the line that had started to form near the gate.

He thinks he might’ve blacked out after that, because the next thing he remembers is sitting on the plane, back ramrod straight, fingers clutched to the shirt like a lifeline. 

And maybe it had been– because the shirt had gotten him through trying to navigate the chaotic narrow streets of Seoul with his stuttered Korean, and nervous interactions with his dorm mother, who had only been mildly unfriendly and exceedingly polite, and walking into his first Korean to Japanese translation seminar, the anxiety in his belly now an ocean that made his knees knock and arms shake from the force of the waves inside him. 

The shirt had been there when he finally adjusted to life in chaotic narrow, beautiful, Seoul, when he could speak to shop owners with the confidence of a native speaker, when the dorm mother warmed up to him enough to fondly call him her ‘Japanese son’. 

When he’d slumped into the furthest seat in the lecture hall from his translation Professor and someone tapped on his shoulder, hesitant and timid, and Yuta turned around to lock eyes with the prettiest boy he’d ever seen, who whispered to him that he liked his shirt before smiling shyly and letting Yuta experience what it was like to feel the sun on his face for the first time. 

(He’d later introduced himself as Lee Taeyong in only slightly accented Japanese after their seminar had finished and with a second shy smile Yuta finally knew what it meant to have a galaxy bloom inside him.

It only took Taeyong to guffaw loudly at one of Yuta’s awful jokes at lunch after their third class together for Yuta to admit to himself that the clutching of his heart was not, in fact, indigestion and was him, in fact, falling in love.

It only took five tentatively-called dates for Yuta to gather the courage to slip his hand into Taeyong’s knocking into his as they walked along the narrow alleyways of Ikseon-dong, refusing to look at Taeyong when he heard the softly exclaimed _‘oh’_ and ignoring the tightness in his chest and the when Taeyong intertwined their fingers and pressed his palm tighter into his own. 

It only took two years of dating for Yuta to ask Taeyong to move in with him on a late Tuesday night when they were at Yuta’s tiny one-bedroom apartment, supposedly studying for finals but actually just watching late-night dramas on tv. It only took Taeyong a second to blink, turn to Yuta and say “okay” before turning back to the tv with the tiniest of grins on his lips and a flush of pink decorating the tips of his ears. 

They’ve been living together ever since.)

The shirt, Yuta supposes, had been his last link to Osaka; to the hazy Summer days he would spend hiking up the mountain just outside his family home, to the smell of cherry blossoms that would permeate the air around Osaka Castle in the springtime, to the takoyaki stands that lined the streets of Kita-ku, to the friends he started off texting every waking second, but now only messaged when he remembered he hadn’t contacted them in months. To the family he used to miss with an ache so painful it felt like a stab to the heart whenever he thought of them; now the knife’s edge has been dulled and his heart aches much less, especially when Taeyong comes and holds him in his arms.

He wonders when he started equating Taeyong, and not Osaka, to home. 

Taeyong, who wears his shirt so comfortably– the black and orange had faded over countless washes, cotton stretching and pulling after years of wear and tear. There’s a small rip near the hem of one of the sleeves and when Taeyong turns to grab a clean tea towel, the way the worn-out collar slips down to expose his collarbone makes Yuta’s breath stop in his throat. 

Taeyong, who’s shuffling around the kitchen in the fluffy kitten slippers Yuta had bought him as a joke for his birthday last year and he refuses to take off when they’re at home. 

Taeyong, with his baggy basketball shorts– that he also stole from Yuta– that threaten to fall off slim hips if he doesn’t tie them at the front. Taeyong, with his black hair sticking up in all directions . 

Yuta thinks he’s never seen him look more beautiful. 

Taeyong’s humming to an unfinished melody he’s been working on for the past few weeks, probably the bridge for the up-and-coming girl group he’s been hired to produce for, and the way his hips sway to the invisible beat makes Yuta’s hands twitch to be holding them. 

Yuta’s never been one to deny his instincts, so he does exactly that. He trudges over to his boyfriend of five years and snakes his hands up under the hem of loose cotton and places them on his bare hips. 

They sink into the soft skin seamlessly, his fingers finding the ridges of Taeyong’s hip bones and resting there–a perfect fit.

“Hey.” Taeyong hums in response, not bothering to turn around to greet him, busy reaching up to put away a clean plate into its rightful shelf. He does tilt his head, lending a cheek for Yuta to plant a little peck on.

“The sun’s still up, why’re you up so early?” Yuta just rolls his eyes at Taeyong’s attempt at being cheeky and just spins him around in his arms and kisses his nose, drawing a small giggle from him before spinning back around to finish his chores. 

Yuta pays no attention to the sudden lurch in his heartbeat, something that happens all too often in Taeyong’s presence.

“That’s something I should be asking you. It’s barely eleven on a Saturday. You–” Yuta pauses, correcting himself. He rests his chin on Taeyong’s shoulder, another flawless fit. “– _We_ , should still be in bed.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, trying to hide the little grin that always seems to appear when Yuta’s deep in his antics. “It’s almost one, actually–“ 

“Same difference.” 

Taeyong shifts slightly in Yuta’s grip. “Two hours difference is definitely not the same.” 

“Well, time is social construct.” Yuta counters and he can almost _feel_ Taeyong roll his eyes.

“Why is that your excuse for literally everything?” Yuta shrugs; he supposes it’s no one really has a comeback for it and gets him out of otherwise sticky situations.

He tells Taeyong so and it makes Taeyong snort, turning around in Yuta’s embrace and levelling with a Look that, five years ago, would’ve have Yuta recoiling instantly, afraid of scaring off the best thing that’s ever happened in his life.

Now, it only makes him smile wider and press his fingers deeper into the crevices of Taeyong’s hips, as if trying to imprint his fingerprints into his bones. 

He stops when Taeyong gives a little wriggle, releasing the pressure from his hands and tilting his chin up to press his lips to Taeyong’s forehead in a half-hearted apology. It appeases Taeyong, who humphs in equally as half-hearted forgiveness and turns back around. 

“Well, it’s not going to work on me.”

Yuta presses another kiss to Taeyong’s temple. “I know. Thought I’d try anyway.” He lets go of Taeyong’s hips and wraps his arms around Taeyong’s waist, loose enough for him to move around and continue putting the cutlery away. 

“You know, you could help me with this instead of just standing there.” Taeyong points out after a few seconds of blissful comfortable silence. 

Yuta, pretending not to hear him, just wraps his arms around Taeyong tighter and rest his head on his shoulder. “I could,” He says, “but you do it so much faster than I do. Besides, there’s only a few plates left.” Taeyong scoffs but he doesn’t argue his point– they both know it’s true.

“And,” Yuta adds when Taeyong’s done putting away the last of the dishes, “now that you’re done, we can get back to bed.”

Taeyong wipes his hand on the tea towel and turns his head back at Yuta with another Look. “We’re already up, what’s the point in going back to sleep?”

“Who said we need to sleep? We could– I don’t know,” Yuta turns his head so he’s nosing in Taeyong’s hair, breathing in the scent of lavender shampoo and falling cherry blossom petals and comfort and home and _Taeyong_ , “lie in bed together and you can finish your song on your laptop and I’ll keep you company.”

“That does sound nice.” Taeyong admits, flushing pleasantly at the thought. Yuta’s quick to take this as a victory and he’s just about to guide Taeyong back towards their bedroom but a little black ball of fluff suddenly zips from under the sofa and towards the kitchen table, a calico fluffball quickly chasing after it, making Yuta jump to avoid them and yelp in surprise.

“Looks like the babies don’t want you to go back to bed either.” Yuta ignores how Taeyong’s small frame shakes gently with laughter, reluctantly pulling his hands away from the warmth of Taeyong’s body and crouching down to greet their little fur babies. 

“Hey babies.” Yuta coos softly as a tiny black head pops out from near the kitchen table leg, giving a small mewl in response. Roly, their black kitten, makes her way on short clumsy legs towards Yuta’s outstretched hand, running into his palm and falling onto her back legs. She gives a small mew of protest before pushing her whole face into Yuta’s hand and purring loudly, the vibrations so strong they make her entire body tremble. 

Yuta giggles at her antics, picking her up and pressing a big smooch to her head before setting her down. He looks around for their other kitten. “Where’s your brother, huh?” 

As if summoned, another tiny head, this time it’s calico, pops out from under the table. Poly is Roly’s brother and a certified demon according to Bella, Yuta’s best friend who’d come over once to kittensit whilst Yuta took Taeyong on a quick trip to Jeju Island for Valentine’s Day. 

Poly, takes this title to heart, choosing to charge straight for Yuta’s legs head first, with a force of will that only little toddlers, tiny kittens and very drunk adults had. He pounces on Yuta’s shin where one of the legs of his sweatpants has ridden up and leaves skin exposed, which Poly takes as an opportunity to practice his fighting, scratching and biting with all the ferocity one would expect from a very small cat.

It’s adorable though, and Yuta think he can deal with the pain if it’s from his children. 

“Don’t worry kids, there’s enough of daddy to go around.” Yuta smoothly avoids Poly’s swiping claws and scoops both kittens up to give Roly and Poly more kisses.

Their playfulness doesn’t distract Yuta from Taeyong’s very loud, very resigned sigh. 

“Please refrain from referring to yourself as _daddy_ in front of the children.”

“But I _am their father_ , their _papa_ , their _daddy_.” Yuta protests immediately. Poly takes this chance to squirm in Yuta’s arms towards his sister. He proceeds to bite her ear, making her retaliate with a loud hiss and a swipe at his face. 

“ _Yuta_.” 

Hearing Taeyong’s tone and scared he’s going to drop them, Yuta bends and puts both kittens down. The kittens zip across the linoleum and out of the kitchen, mewling and growling playfully under the sofa once more. 

Yuta watches them go with a fond eye. 

He wonders if this is what it’s like to be a parent.

“Fine, I’ll keep it strictly to the bedroom then.” Yuta snickers and expertly dodging and catching the tea towel Taeyong throws at him. 

“I don’t know how I’m still dating you.” Taeyong grumbles. Yuta walks up to him and puts the towel back on the counter before cupping Taeyong’s face in his hands and, finally, captures Taeyong’s lips in his, indulging in their first proper kiss of the day.

It’s soft and familiar and, like always, manages to bathe Yuta in the same lazy warmth he’d been chasing in bed only minutes ago. 

Taeyong must’ve found time to brush his teeth because Yuta can taste the remnants of fresh spearmint on his tongue and he finds himself chasing it before Taeyong pulls away, a slight flush splashed across his cheeks and the specks of the universe in his eyes gazing up at Yuta with such affection and intimacy and love.

Yuta thinks this, _this_ is what it’s like to be loved by the sun.

“Maybe that’s why.” Yuta smirks, only a little coy and he laughs when Taeyong scrunches his nose cutely. 

“Your breath stinks,” Taeyong says, pushing Yuta’s face away tries to kiss him again, “No, I’m not kissing you again until you brush your teeth!” 

Yuta gasps and lets Taeyong push him away. He clutches his heart, pretending to be offended and also pretending he’s not slightly offended for real. “We were having a moment!” 

“Yeah, one your breath ruined!” Taeyong retorts back. He not without a small peck on the cheek that makes Yuta grin widely and saunter into the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

He comes back out at a speed that makes Taeyong squint his eyes at him in suspicion. Yuta ignores Taeyong’s startled squawk when he puts his hands on Taeyong’s hips, picks him up and spins him around, making Taeyong grab onto Yuta’s shoulders for balance. 

“I’m back, now with a breath that’s minty fresh.” He announces when he’s put Taeyong down. He smiles winningly in the face of Taeyong’s narrowed eyes and distrustful stare. “What? I did brush my teeth!”

“Yuta, you were in there for all of thirty seconds.” 

Yuta shrugs. 

“I’m a speed brusher.” That makes Taeyong press his lips together to stop himself from laughing but Yuta has no such qualms and the joyous sound fills their quiet apartment for a moment. After he stops, he leans his face into Taeyong’s neck and presses a murmur into his jawline. 

“You should kiss me again, just so you can be sure.”

There’s a sudden tension in the air when Yuta lifts his head up again and Taeyong just looks up at him. He blinks once, curls a hand at Yuta’s nape and pulls him down to do just that.

Time stills.

Taeyong kisses him with a quiet reverence he only reserves for Yuta. The hand at the back of his head strokes his nape gently and Yuta responds by deepening the kiss, pulling Taeyong further into his embrace. 

Yuta can still taste the spearmint in Taeyong’s mouth, but this time, he can also taste the red wine they share on late nights curled onto each other on the sofa, watching the latest Netflix romantic comedy with Roly and Poly dozing away between their entwined legs. He can taste the fried chicken from their picnic date last week down by the Han River, Taeyong’s hand resting on top of his, watching the sun go down together. 

Taeyong tastes like the sun on his lips and the moon on his tongue. 

Taeyong tastes like the stars shooting across the sky. 

When he pulls away this time, Taeyong’s smiling at him and Yuta smiles back, nuzzling their noses together. 

“Told you I brushed my teeth.” Yuta whispers. Taeyong rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh; a little exasperated and all too fond. 

“I guess you did.” Taeyong whispers back. His eyes crinkle and Yuta’s heart lurches inside his rib cage, threatening to jump out of his mouth and nestle in Taeyong’s chest. 

He reaches down to grab Taeyong’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “So, can we go back to bed now?”

“Nope!” Taeyong’s reply is all too cheerful. Yuta drops Taeyong’s hand and tilts his head back to groan loudly.

The moment collapses. Time marches on.

“Why not?”

“I told you; we’re already up silly!” Yuta lifts his head to give Taeyong the stink eye, but it quickly turns into an endearing glare when he sees Taeyong grinning up at him. 

He could never stay mad at Taeyong for long.

“Besides, didn’t you say you had a lot of essay marking to do this weekend?”

“Ugh,” Yuta groans again and buries his head into Taeyong’s shoulder, “don’t remind me. I can’t believe I have to think about those little fucking shits even on my day off.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t be calling your students ‘little fucking shits’.” Taeyong muses, comforting Yuta with gentle, only slightly condescending, pats to his head. 

“But it’s what they _deserve_!” Yuta whines, entirely too dramatically, but it’s worth the smile he sees gracing Taeyong’s lips before he turns his head away and bites his lip to try and hide it. 

“I have no idea how you managed to become a tutor with that attitude.”

Honestly, Yuta didn’t know either. He assumes it’s because he had somehow, to the surprise of everyone including himself, managed to not only graduate with Honours but foster a great mentor-mentee relationship with Professor Kim Kibum, the terrifying Head of the Linguistics Department– a man Yuta had once seen make a student piss himself after he’d been caught by the Professor bullying another student for being gay in his department.

He’s not sure how and why Kibum likes him, but he likes to pretend it’s because of his stunning good looks and naturally charming personality, and not because Yuta is incredibly gifted at languages, taking to them like a duck to water, and even better at teaching others what he knows.

Yuta doesn’t like to think about how smart he is, no matter how many times Taeyong tells him so. 

And he definitely doesn’t like to think about it when it means he’s been saddled with marking thousands of terribly written essays, riddled with grammar mistakes, by students who were only taking the course as an elective and didn’t care for the subject. 

Maybe Kibum didn’t like him much at all. 

“Probably because I’m incredible good looking.” Yuta says, tone boastful enough he thinks it hides the self-doubt that coats his words. The hand on his head stills, and he sees Taeyong’s reproachful look before he closes his eyes, pressing his face into Taeyong’s neck. 

He really doesn’t want to discuss his insecurities right now, not when he would rather hold his boyfriend on his day off. 

He feels Taeyong’s sigh more than hearing it, and the hand in his hair starts stroking again. 

“I guess it is.” Taeyong says quietly. 

When Yuta lifts his head, and he presses his lips to Taeyong’s for a brief second in gratitude for not bringing up the topic, even though Taeyong’s pout tells him the conversation if definitely Not Over. 

He kisses that too and feels his chest fill with an abundance of tenderness when Taeyong reciprocates. 

“So,” Taeyong started after they break apart and Yuta licks his lips at the flush painting Taeyong’s cheekbones–soft pink, he thinks, like a sunset–, “since we’re both up, I think we should do the laundry.”

The sigh Yuta lets out is deep and long and all too familiar to both of them.

“Do we have to? We deserve a break from dumb chores we don’t want to do. We deserve the right to not to laundry!” Yuta knows he’s whining, but he can’t help it. Whilst he doesn’t mind doing most of the household chores–he’s particularly partial to vacuuming– he hates doing laundry. 

“Jokes on you, I actually like doing the laundry.” Taeyong steps out of Yuta’s arms easily and breezes past him, walking into their bedroom. Yuta sighs again, following him with resigned steps.

“Okay then,” He changes tactics once he enters the bedroom, “ _I_ deserve to not be doing laundry!” Taeyong laughs at that and Yuta relishes in the warmth that blooms in his chest and spreads to the very tips of his fingers. It disappears just as fast when Taeyong walks up to him and dumps a large pile of dirty clothes in his arms. 

“Get over it, big baby.” Taeyong chides, not before pressing a kiss to Yuta’s very prominent pout. Yuta feels his cheeks heat up and ignores Taeyong’s snickers, falling into step with Taeyong as he walks around the room, picking up all the clothes that need to be washed.

“God, it’s the weekend, Yong. I already have to spend it marking through shitty last minute essays written by those little fucks, do we really have to waste time washing our clothes as well?” 

“If you want something clean to wear to your classes on Monday, then yes.” Taeyong retorts, flicking a sock in Yuta’s direction that he manages to land on top of the pile. Yuta just rolls his eyes and walks out of the room and to their laundry, a tiny room adjacent to their bathroom that had just enough room for their washing machine, a sink and a single cabinet. 

He shakes off the clothes in his arms into the machine and walks back to their bedroom, leaning against the doorframe as Taeyong is picking up the last of the clothing on the floor.

“You know, I’m not all that opposed to turning up naked.” Yuta taps his chin and pretends to ponder. The subsequent elbow he receives to his stomach is definitely worth it to see Taeyong splutter and turn as red as he does.

Yuta definitely shouldn’t be getting this much enjoyment out of teasing his boyfriend like this. But he does.

Sometimes he asks himself how old he really is.

“If you turn up to your classes naked and get fired, I’m breaking up with you.” Taeyong says, tone mostly pleasant, but his eyes clearly state every threat he doesn’t say verbally and Yuta gets the message loud and clear.

“As if Kibum would ever fire me.” Yuta scoffs, but takes the piles from Taeyong’s arms in apology and walks out again, the soft shuffling of Taeyong’s slippered feet following his steps. 

The laundry is cramped with both of them inside, but Yuta doesn’t mind the close proximity, especially if it means he gets to feel Taeyong’s familiar warmth pressed against him. 

“He would if you showed up with your dick out.” Taeyong points out, taking the clothes out of Yuta’s arms to place them in the machine so Yuta can reach up and grab the washing detergent from the shelf that Taeyong, despite all his protests that he’s “not that short!”, can’t reach. 

Yuta lords it over him every single time. Literally.

“That’s valid.” Yuta holds the detergent above his head and laughs at the playful glare Taeyong sends his way. He knows Taeyong’s about to step on his toes if he doesn’t quit, so he purses his lips to smooch Taeyong, who dodges his attack and grabs the detergent from him with a warning wag of his finger.

“Don’t be naughty.” Yuta just sticks his tongue out at Taeyong and giggles when Taeyong gives him the finger back. 

Yuta realises this is his last chance to try and get out of doing the laundry, and Yuta’s not about to give up now.

“Hey.” Yuta presses his chest to Taeyong’s back and snakes an arm around his shoulder. Taeyong hums in response, busy scooping out the powder into the measuring cup. 

It’s clear he’s not really listening, so Yuta tries again. “Hey, guess what?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Taeyong doesn’t so much as blink at the sudden confession, too used to Yuta’s methods to slip out of doing the chore. “That’s great. You’re still not getting out of helping me with the laundry.”

Yuta lets out a resigned sigh, slipping away from Taeyong. He crosses his arms and leans against the washing machine, looking at it forlornly. “It was worth a try.”

“It definitely wasn’t.” Taeyong hums cheekily and bumps Yuta out of the way and dumps the scoop of detergent and shuts the lid. He pushes the power on button and the machine comes to life with a sudden start and a cheery little jingle. 

Taeyong sings along with the machine as he always does. Yuta looks on fondly; there’s a star resting on Taeyong’s smile and all Yuta wants to do lick away the remnants of stardust that sparkle so inviting on his lips. 

And so he does. 

Yuta comes up behind Taeyong again, putting his hands on Taeyong’s hips and spinning him around to capture his lips in a fervent kiss. It only takes Taeyong a moment of confusion before he kisses him back just as eager. Yuta swallows the soft noise Taeyong makes when Yuta picks him up by the back of his thighs and places him on top of the washing machine.

When they break apart, Yuta rests his forehead on Taeyong’s and catches his breath. They’re both panting, cheeks flushed the same shade of pink, chests pressed together so they can feel each other’s heartbeat– perfectly in sync. 

“What was that for?” Taeyong asks, but he’s still panting for air so Yuta decides to share his own, pressing a kiss to his lips so tender and filthy that when they part, Taeyong chases after him, a man desperate. He grabs Yuta’s shirt in fistfuls, spreading his legs so Yuta can slot in between them, knees vibrating from the force of the washing machine below them. 

“Just–” _I love you_. “Just cause.” Taeyong giggles at that, a soft breathless thing that would make weaker men fall to their knees– it’s a good thing Yuta is leaning into him, curling his hands around the back of Taeyong’s thighs, relishing in the sharp gasp Taeyong lets out, and spreading them further until there is no space between them. 

“Just cause.” Taeyong repeats against Yuta’s lips, and Yuta swallows his words with sigh. Over the years, he’s learned to carry the words he’s stolen from Taeyong’s lips, the breath he’s taken from Taeyong’s lungs deep in his body, each one of them filed away with adoration and love; a precious artefact.

One day, when Yuta is long gone from the world, scientists will discover his corpse. When they finally manage to crack open his rib cage, they’ll find a Bible, filled with everything that Taeyong’s so generously let Yuta take from him so greedily– every word and breath, every gasp and moan, every strangled cry of his name that he’s managed to capture in his mouth– and everyone who reads it will be moved to tears, ready to fall to their knees and worship Taeyong as the deity Yuta has always known him to be. 

But until then– until then, Yuta intends to be greedy, intends to claim more of him until his body is weighed down, filled with nothing but Taeyong. 

“I wanna eat you out.” 

The whimper that escapes Taeyong’s lips make Yuta hold his thighs tight enough that Taeyong lets out a soft grunt. Yuta loosens the grip for a moment, but Taeyong doesn’t seem to mind. Slowly, he wraps his legs around Yuta’s waist and lets go of his shirt, putting his hands on top of Yuta’s, pressing them both down until Yuta has a hold of him so tight, he’s sure there’ll be bruises for him to kiss tomorrow morning. 

“Here? Right now?” Taeyong’s voice comes out as something quiet, a hair’s breadth above a whisper; it would be hard to hear but Yuta’s pressed so close to him he could hear the blood rushing to Taeyong’s cheeks if he listened close enough. 

“Why not?” Yuta counters, “Not like we have anything better to do while we wait.” Taeyong hums in contemplation, but he already looks a mess; lips swollen and parted, chest heaving with exertion, wide doe eyes gazing up at Yuta through a haze of lust and affection. 

Yuta imagines this is what the cosmos must look like, scattered and dancing across Taeyong’s cheekbones in rose and scarlet hues up to the tips of his dainty ears.

“You have essays to mark.” Taeyong reminds him gently, but the way his ankles hook at the small of Yuta’s back makes him think that maybe his argument may be in vain.

“They can wait,“ Yuta says, a smirk curved on his lips, all sharp teeth and promises of ruin. He watches as Taeyong’s eyes grow wide for a split second, the dim yellow light of the laundry reflected in his eyes; the specks of the universe burn brighter than Yuta’s ever seen. “Not when I have something more important to do.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Taeyong’s asks, voice as coy as the little smile decorating his face. All the oxygen in their tiny laundry is suddenly sucked out and all that’s left in the vacuum is the sound of heavy breaths and stifling heat.

Yuta doesn’t answer him, he doesn’t have to. He reaches back and unhooks Taeyong’s ankles stepping out from between his legs. His eyes never leave Taeyong’s as slowly, he gets on his knees, hands slipping under Taeyong’s sleep shorts and resting on his bare inner thigh with a light squeeze.

The way Taeyong looks down at him, wide eyed confusion slowly turning into sharp, dark clarity, has Yuta’s breath hitching at the back of his throat. 

Everything is still. Anticipation buzzes loud like white noise inside his head.

“Okay,” Taeyong whispers. And that’s all the permission Yuta needs. 

Yuta makes quick work of Taeyong’s shorts, untying the tie with a quick pull. Taeyong lifts his hips to help him slip the shorts down slender legs until they pool onto the floor. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of Taeyong’s cock– he’s always found sleeping in underwear uncomfortable– already flushed a pretty pink and hard. There’s precome smeared across the tip, leaking down the sides of his cock. 

Yuta’s mouth waters at the sight. He feels the pit of hunger in his belly plunge deeper; his need to taste, to consume Taeyong reaching unfathomable heights. 

He takes Taeyong’s cock in his mouth, tongue lapping at the precome dribbling out of the slit. Taeyong’s hand fly up to curl into Yuta’s hair, legs bracketing his head and letting out a long, loud keen. 

Yuta bobs his head, slow and methodical. He sucks around the length, hollowing his cheeks and taking more of Taeyong in his mouth until the tip hits the back of his throat. He stills, just to bask in the desperate moans that leave Taeyong’s open mouth, the legs around his head shaking in pleasure. 

“Fuck.” Taeyong exhales with reverence when Yuta pulls off with a final wet kiss to his cock. He can hear him panting above him and he presses another open kiss to his hip. 

“Are you ready?” Yuta asks, feeling just as breathless as Taeyong looks when he flicks his eyes up to his boyfriend, lips bitten red and swollen, the warm hues of the cosmos now spread all the way down to his slender neck. Taeyong just nods silently, fingers curling around Yuta’s locks and gently guiding his face back down.

Yuta snakes his arms around Taeyong’s ass and pulls him further towards him so he’s sitting on the edge of the washing machine, still cheerfully vibrating away. He parts Taeyong’s cheeks and leans in, breath ghosting over his exposed hole, earning a full body shiver from the man above.

He must linger a little too long because Taeyong whines, pulling his hair with a sharp tug and childishly kicking Yuta’s shoulder in warning. 

Yuta gets it, and with an apologetic murmur he finally, _finally_ , leans in and runs his tongue flat across Taeyong’s hole. 

“Yuta–” The way Taeyong arches his back and gasps his name is almost pious; a choir of angels gasp along with him and it only makes Yuta all that more eager to coax more hymns from his mouth. 

He lifts Taeyong’s legs, placing them on his shoulders. The heat that radiates from his body makes Yuta feel hazy with desire, so he bends down and closes his mouth over the sensitive hole, forcing a choked whimper out of Taeyong. 

It’s filthy– the way he licks stripe after stripe over the entrance, tongue circling the rim teasingly; just enough to feel it clench under his constant loving ministration, before forcing his tongue in through the tight breach of muscle, pressing deep into his walls. The way the sound of Yuta slurping and Taeyong’s sweet moans bounce across the tiny room, echoing out into their apartment. 

The way Taeyong looks so debauched when Yuta lifts his gaze up; he revels in the sight of Taeyong with his head thrown back, mouth falling open, his keens so wanton that Yuta feels his own cheeks heat up. His shirt is rumpled, the worn out collar in disarray below his exposed collarbone that’s painted with the same brush that’s painted the rest of his body in a red glow. His cock bobbing and leaking onto his stomach and his grip on Yuta’s hair is tight, using it to grind his hips down in reckless abandon, trying desperately to ride Yuta’s lips and tongue, pushing them deeper into his body. 

The way Taeyong looks down at Yuta with wild eyes, spit slick lips and pupils so dilated all he can see is the black hole he contains inside them, sucking Yuta in further with every passing second. 

He looks a vision of Sin. 

This– Yuta thinks in his lust filled daze, nuzzling Taeyong’s bruised thigh before diving back in– _this_ is the image that inspired generations of artists to pick up their palettes, to create their masterpieces. 

This is Art.

It’s only when Taeyong’s hole and Yuta’s chin glisten with spit, tiny rivulets running down to Taeyong’s ass that he takes a finger and runs it along the wet paths down Taeyong’s thighs, gathering up the extra wetness and circling the rim once, twice, before pushing his finger in alongside.

The scream he gets in response is well worth it.

Yuta twists his tongue in deeper, curling his finger directly against his prostate, relishing in the broken sob Taeyong lets out. He grips onto Yuta’s hair so tight, he hisses and pulls his tongue out, biting down on the flesh of Taeyong’s ass hard and being rewarded with another heavenly chorus of moans.

“Yuta, please. I’m so _close_ –” His plea doesn’t fall on deaf ears.

He wraps his other hand around Taeyong’s leaking cock and gives it one, two, three quick strokes before he’s coming undone in Yuta’s embrace.

When Taeyong comes, it’s with the quiet implosion of a supernova; his lips part in a silent prayer, head tilted heavenwards as his cock spills into Yuta’s waiting fist. 

He continues to lick deep into Taeyong, eyes drinking up the way his body shakes from the stimulation, tiny whimpers bubbling from his sweet pink lips as his legs spasm over Yuta’s shoulders, riding through the aftershocks of his orgasm in waves. 

It’s only after Taeyong’s legs have stopped shaking and he’s stopped panting that Yuta stands up and, ignoring Taeyong’s screech of disgust, presses his slick swollen mouth to Taeyong’s, stealing any other protests that may rise from his lips and swallowing them deep into his belly. 

They break apart when the washing machine below them gives a happy jingle to tell them the clothes are ready to be hung up. Taeyong pulls away first, glaring down between his legs at the offending machine as if it had done this on purpose.

Yuta just giggles at his antics and basks in the low light of the laundry, settled between Taeyong’s dangling legs, arms loosely wrapped around his waist. 

They’re not quite ready to move away from each other yet– they drift around each other, two planets circling, coming together with the force of gravity eventually pulling them in together until their foreheads collide gently, breathing in as the other breathes out, heartbeats perfectly in sync. 

“I love you.” Yuta says suddenly, and it makes Taeyong still for a moment. He blinks, and then lets a blinding smile that devastates Yuta before he leans in to capture his lips for one final kiss. 

Yuta can still taste the sun on his lips and the moon on his tongue.

But more than that, Taeyong tastes like the cosmos wrapping itself around his bones, settling into the crevices in the ribcage. Taeyong tastes like the billions of words that Yuta has swallowed over the years; every whispered adoration and playful joke line his chest in thin layers so his heart can lay peacefully, hands clutched around the words, a lifeline. 

Taeyong tastes like the sun filtering through half-drawn curtains, bathing them in a soft golden light as they laze about in bed together, their two kittens snoring away at their feet. 

Taeyong tastes like inevitability.

Taeyong tastes like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to johnkun president and occasional yutae afficionado [lunalius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunalius/pseuds/lunalius) for dealing w my 2am yelling in her dms about how it Genuinely took me 48 hrs to write what is essentially 400 words of porn.
> 
> also thank you to [95liners](https://archiveofourown.org/users/95liners/pseuds/95liners) for telling me to write cute face grinding, and [fairyslush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyslush) for yelling at me to get off twitter and actually fucking write (which is also why you've been name dropped)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/yuckhyongs)   
>  [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/yuckhyongs)


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